Because neither Frank nor I have a place of our own in London, we booked a hotel room near Trafalgar Square. We were together from dinner on Friday through lunch on Sunday. We wandered the National Gallery on Saturday, went to the theater in the evening, and shared five meals. We also exhausted a box of condoms at the hotel. As there is too much sex to tell, I will relate one highlight of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday among many.

Friday

I had worn a dress that was too light for the season and left me shivering outdoors despite a thick winter coat that fell to my knees. As I sat straddling his lap in bed, Frank’s hands slid the skirt up my body until my rump showed below the hem. While I held his head by the ears and spelunked my tongue into his open mouth, his fingers secreted themselves under the red lace panties and fondled my buttocks. The hands massaged the cheeks and feathered along the cleft. Fingertips drummed a persistent beat over the muscle at the anus.

First we undressed each other, normally a simple process obstructed by progressions of kisses. It was his mouth I wanted to breathe through, his tongue I wanted to taste, his air I wanted to drink. When his cock was out in the open, the object of my lust shifted a couple of feet downward. Several swift passes lubricated the erection, and then I had him in my throat. Frank kept interrupting my blowjob to pull me up to kiss. He threw me over the mattress. We had a small tickling war that he won by virtue of superior strength. With his weight on top, Frank pinned my wrists to the bed and squeezed my legs with his. Rolling off me, he dragged me back by the legs and heaved one of my ankles over each of his shoulders and plunged his face between my thighs. I held on to the short hairs at the back of his head as he licked and fingered me. My first orgasm of the night arrived this way, through the intercession of that tongue and those incredible lips and that middle finger, which pushed against the clit through the wall of the vagina.

Frank confirmed my suspicions when he asked if he could fuck my ass. I was delighted by the prospect. When the cock slid into my pussy to lubricate itself, I moaned and contracted the muscles of my cunt about the shaft. The penetration behind happened slowly. I lowered on forearms and knees, head sideways on the pillow, and raised my buttocks to him. Initially, the glans elbowed through the sphincter, and after that, he lowered his shaft into me little by little. He rocked his pelvis backward so that only the head remained within, the ring of muscle tight about it like an elastic band, and he pushed forward to claim an extra half inch when next he thrust with his hips. Once the length of the penis stroked into me, I raised myself, grabbed on to the headboard of the bed, and gyrated my ass back at his cock. He held me by the waist and then by the breasts as he stabbed into me.

In the end, we tried a new position. My head was on the floor, and I used my hands to prop my back and buttocks vertical. He stood, knees bent, straddling me, and his fingers slanted the penis downward. High above me, I saw the rise of his back, the tufts of fur between his shoulders, the valley of his spine, and the bedraggled hair at the top of his head. Light gleamed from the sheen of sweat and gave him an otherworldly gloss. He penetrated my anus as he squatted and lifted. His thighs bounced off my buttocks when the cock sunk in, and his balls slapped against my perineum and pussy half a moment later. I reached my hand up to stroke his thigh when he spurted.

Saturday

Before we went out to see the play, Frank and I took a bubble bath together. The tip of his cock peered above the surface like the periscope on a submarine. My tongue lifted against one of the lobes of the head and curled to fit the curve of his glans. I sucked only the knob, where I knew the nerves were most densely concentrated. My lips nipped lightly at the apron of foreskin at the bottom. Underwater, the heels of my fingers batted at the base of the shaft and at the round projection of his scrotum. I felt the flow of liquid between my fingers and under my palm.

Frank brought his legs out of the water and extended them on either side of me so that they stretched to the other end of the bathtub. His torso lifted perpendicularly and his back reclined against the far wall. One of his hands pressed down against the back of my head to ensure that my mouth would retain its hold on his penis. I clasped the middle of the shaft and sucked hard against the head, pouting my lips to add pressure and friction. My tongue licked lightly along the ridge of foreskin. As he vocalized his pleasure, the water dashed the walls of the tub and made loud splashing noises. He asked that I don’t make him come. I acceded to this request, but I drew out the blowjob as long as possible by humming, buzzing, sucking, swishing saliva over the crown, flicking the tonguetip at the aperture, raking my top row of teeth gently over the helmet, and, in general, varying the stimulation as ever I could. Up close, I liked how the water beaded over the shaft and hung in enormous droplets in his thick pubic hair.

Later, I washed my pussy and rinsed the soap from the labial folds with the showerhead, which I held in my hand and pointed at my pubis. Frank replaced my fingers with his and rubbed from side to side over the swollen, but still yearning flesh. Before long, his tongue lined up and down the slit. He told me that I tasted clean. His nose flattened against the pubic bone as the tongue insinuated itself through the doorway. The fingers pinched the hood of the clit and eased the cowl off to show the distended nerves. I directed the water stream at the juncture of my legs. Eyes closed, he sucked deeper, and he sucked harder, and he sucked so much slower. His hands cupped my buttocks and pulled me to him as the length of his tongue crammed into my vagina. His upper lip brushed against the clitoris, and the air from his flared nostrils wheezed over it. I leaned my weight against the side wall and thrust my pelvis onto his face. The water from the shower pulsed against my bare pubis, dashed around his proboscis, and rolled down in waves over the entrance of my pussy where his jaws now worked. Unlike him, I had no compunction about coming: I could do it forever.

When he fucked me, I sunk into the water with my head propped against the shallow end of the bathtub. One of my legs hooked over the edge and the other lifted in an angle against the wall. His thighs inhabited the space between mine, and his knees settled against the bottom of the tub. The tops of his feet balanced on the taps and faucet at the far end. With my weight displacing the water and also his, the waterline rose until it hovered a mere two inches below the lip. The soap suds left a sea of foam that clung to our bodies.

His cock lodged all the way into my cunt, and he fucked me with shallow strokes. My arms held his waist and steadied his movements, the fingers clenching over the hips whenever he thrust. I groaned my approbation and kissed him. The notes of my ecstasy bounced off the walls and echoed back in counterpoint to the next expressive sounds that escaped my lips.

I challenged him to fuck me harder. The cock vacated my cunt almost totally and sliced through the water in the tub and sluiced back in to the warmth and the wetness of my pussy. The water splashed over the rim leaving puddles on the floor. I folded my arms under my head and pushed off the bottom surface of the tub. My cunt tilted up at him. My breasts floated in the opaque water like volcanic islands. Frank pushed his weight off the sides of the bathtub and fucked me faster. The fluid between us moderated the strength of his movements, but its spray up my pubis to my belly felt exquisite.

I tightened my muscles around the cock as he penetrated me. My eyes squinched shut, and my cheekbones lifted, and I breathed hard through my nose, and my body tensed up, and my arms wrapped his back, and I gripped his shoulders, and I thrust my pelvis up, hard and out, and my chest heaved, and my toes curled against the drain, and my buttocks launched into the air, and it fell again in a great splashdown just as I came.

Frank grunted through my orgasm, and then his resolve gave out. His cock convulsed inside me, which made the walls of my vagina bow inward and buckle. My orgasm intensified one more notch, and I bit his shoulder and beat my forearm against his back. When we sank into the water again, the tub was only half full. Despite the towels on the floor, water seeped between my toes as I stood in front of the mirror and completed my preparations for a thrilling evening out.

Sunday

In the morning, after we had finished breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, we returned to our room to pack. We stole kisses as we could. While his hands rubbed my cunt through my black trousers, I unzipped Frank’s jeans and wormed my hand into the fly. Descending to my knees, I sucked him before the window. The curtains were drawn apart, and the light sloped in through the glass. Another, taller hotel across the street gazed down at us. I hoped that we would be observed by a guest in one of their rooms, but I doubt that anyone saw, and perhaps the glass was anyway too reflective from the outside for us to be noticed. Regardless of whether we had an audience, I added a bit of theater to the fellatio. My hands made circles under his shirt while my head bobbed over the shaft, and when my tongue caught his semen, I spit it back over the shaft and vacuumed it up again. Droplets of semen shimmered brightly in his dark pubic hair like thick raindrops.

These were memorable days. I hope to see Frank one more time before flying home.

Because it doesn’t fit in the last post, I separately relate one further episode regarding my Thursday morning. I haven’t performed a piss service since I left London. Urine isn’t one of David’s kinks. My other erstwhile regulars are now so irregular that there hasn’t been an opportunity for me to play this way.

This is how it went.

We were awakened at six by the alarm. After two snooze cycles, Amadeo and I got out of bed. We had made certain to schedule time for morning sex, but as Amadeo needed to go to the office, it was past time to ready ourselves for the day.

I used the toilet first. I had my legs separated as I sat on the throne. Amadeo knelt in front of me. His palm cupped my pussy. I released in short bursts that covered his hand. He wiped the fingers over my tits and replaced them to collect more of my pee. He slapped my cheek with urine wet fingers when I had finished and made me lick the skin clean.

Then, while I knelt in the bathtub, he stood on the sides and waved his penis at me. I looked up at Amadeo with mouth open wide, expectant, a baby chick waiting to be fed.

He hosed me down. The urine landed on my forehead. I closed my eyes and let the piss cascade down my cheeks. The heat fell along the sides of my nose as Amadeo pointed the flow at my mouth. I gargled his pee. I took a swallow, but let most of the urine overflow my lips. It ran down my throat and landed on my breasts.

Amadeo kicked my shoulder with his left foot. I leaned my body backward against the side of the tub and spread my legs for him. The stream of piss landed on my pubis. I peeled the pussy lips open so that my cunt gaped up at him. He urinated into it. After that, he shook the last drops free. They landed on my thigh.

When he had finished, I held the piss inside as long as I could. My body tilted forward as I sat. While the urine sloshed out of my cunt, I ran my fingers over the labia. I licked my hand to taste him again. Then I fellated the cock. Amadeo left the bathroom briefly to retrieve condoms and lube, which he poured onto my ass and smeared on the sphincter. The tip of a finger penetrated me and coated the ring of muscle with lubricant. Suppressing a heaving reaction to the horrid taste of latex, I sucked him again.

He sodomized me. At some point, he turned on the shower. Like the sex, the water was scalding hot.

Amadeo cooked. It was a five course meal: antipasto, primo, secondo, contorno, dolce, with a bottle of Chianti Riserva. We caught up over the meal. I had missed talking to him. I asked whether he has a new girl. He laughed and said no, but he is back on Craigslist looking to see if he can get lucky a second time. I offered to write him a reference. He hasn’t been entirely celibate since I left London, but then neither have I. With me, David focuses on bondage and, to a lesser extent, pain. I have missed the other faces of dominance.

After the meal, we went to the bedroom. Amadeo sat on the edge of the mattress and rolled up his sleeves. I stripped out of my top and my jeans in as sexy a manner as I could. I sat on his lap and used my ass to coax his penis to hardness. Amadeo shifted the hair to the side to expose my neck. His tongue licked the nape and descended to the shoulders. His hands cupped my breasts through the white bra. He undid the clasp and slipped his palms under the cups. His teeth nipped the side of my throat. The back of the thong covered hardly anything at all. The string bisected my ass. He pulled me backward by the elastic ringing my hips and kissed me possessively. The tongue in my mouth was confident and knowledgeable.

When he stripped, he wanted to whip me with his belt, but I asked him for a barehand spanking instead. I wanted the touch of skin against skin. I had missed sixteen Wednesdays with him. Moreover, I had missed his birthday, which was at the end of September. He made up for the lost time. I was over his lap for an hour. I squirmed. I shrieked out in hurt. I cried. His hand made the skin burn. The blows were sudden. He put the strength of his upper body into them. The solidity of cock under me aroused my pussy even as the powerful slaps to the buttocks caused pain. To moderate the stimulation a little, he rubbed his fingers over the lips of my dripping cunt. A wet hand seems to hurt me more than a dry one: there may have been an ulterior motive. I called him a motherfucker after one particularly hard strike. The next ones were harder. He kept hitting the same places repeatedly, to augment the intensity of the experience. Every so often, he raised my ass and stooped to lick and kiss over the spaces where his hand had landed. On occasion, these kisses morphed into bites. The skin was already tender. I felt the points of the canines and incisors. The endorphin rush was immense whenever Amadeo would recommence after a pause. He stopped only because his hand hurt too much to continue. I kissed his palm and the tips of his fingers. I sucked the digits one by one, slowly, as though each were his cock. I thanked him. I liked that his vigor had marked my skin.

In the morning, in the shower, with bruises still evident, Amadeo would fuck my ass. His foot would press my face against the tub while hot water beat upon my back from above and spiraled down the drain under my head. For the moment, he sent me to my knees.

My buttocks, which continued to blaze — in some places with a diffuse ache, in others with a throbbing hurt — hovered above my heels. Before I started sucking him, he filled the cup of my hands with his expectorate to lubricate their touch on his cock. I supplemented this by smearing the wetness leaking from my cunt onto his balls. Foreplay was brief. I hadn’t tasted his cock in so long. I was greedy for it. The flat tongue trailed along the sides of the shaft. I licked the underside from the pedestal to the crown. The pinch of fingers eased the foreskin down, and I softly kissed the glans. The salt of his precome instilled in me a condition of absolute longing. I wrapped my lips about the bulbous knob and lowered. My face rotated as it sunk. It wasn’t long until I had the penis installed deep in my throat. Pushing off from his thighs, I swallowed him repeatedly from the tip to the root. My spit waterfalled down his balls. Amadeo’s hands tweaked my nipples. He reached down between my legs for my cunt, which was sopping.

Amadeo found a use for the belt. He folded it in half and extended the leather against the back of my head and pulled with his arms to keep his erection ensconced in my throat. I fellated the cock until he came, and I showed the semen in my mouth before I swallowed.

If it had been nearly four months since I had tasted him, it was also almost four months since he had tasted me. Amadeo feasted between my legs, but he told me I wasn’t allowed to orgasm until his cock occupied my cunt. I gripped the sheets and held on. His tongue squeezed between the labial folds. He tugged them with his lips. He scratched the evening shadow on his cheeks over my sensitive, waxed pubis. I loved how his fingers pressed against the G-spot to bring the clit into prominence. He lapped at the distended nerves. The hood peeled off. His lips sucked hard over the nub. It was the points of his teeth that did it. When he bit, I shrieked. My ass bucked up from the mattress. The pleasure of cunnilingus had made me forget about how sore my buttocks were, but the friction reminded me as my ass slid laterally over the bed. My body tensed. I groaned and came despite my will.

Amadeo found a second use for his belt. He brought it over my pussy ten times in succession to punish me for coming too quickly and without his consent. Each time, once I had finished flailing, I caught my breath, thanked him, and in my best Oliver Twist voice asked for more. This made him chuckle.

Afterwards, Amadeo was beyond hard. He rolled a condom onto his shaft and entered me from above. A much missed cock attached to a much missed man plugged my pussy. I wrapped my arms about his back, and I hugged him to me. The sense of completion, the sense of fullness, the sense of belonging overwhelmed me. I wept. More so than the spanking or the blowjob or the cunt licking or the pussy whipping, this brought me to a submissive place. Through the veil of my tears, I beseeched him to fuck me. I spread a little more and enfolded my legs about his thighs.

Amadeo admonished me in his strict voice to ask him for permission to come this time.

He knew what he was doing with his cock. He had come once already, so on the second pass he could hold out on his orgasm. When I asked him for permission, he denied me. The first time he slowed a little to help ease me away from the edge. The second time, he showed no such mercy. “Not till I say yes,” he said, and he fucked me harder and faster. His hand covered my throat and squeezed.

Under his weight, I groaned and wailed. I balled my hands into fists and beat them against his back. I gritted my teeth and absorbed the force of his thrusts. The tears did not stop. After one minute or two, I asked him again and was rebuffed a third time. His tongue entered my mouth. My back arched up. My nails dug into his shoulders. I restrained myself from climaxing.

“You can come,” he said soon after, though I didn’t make a fourth request. Another couple strokes of the piston inside me was all it took. I squirted with his cock inside. The ferocity of the orgasm, a convulsing of the vaginal muscles and the release from deep inside expelled his penis from my pussy. The jet of ejaculate launched out of me like an arc of fireworks. After the initial spume, the waters escaped me like a river spilling its banks. The flood left his bedsheets drenched.

Amadeo laughed, and then so did I. He replaced his erection in my cunt and proceeded to fuck me again. My orgasms came continually after that. The little ones were frequent. These were small tremors in the vaginal walls and near the lip of the pussy. The middle ones were the G-spot orgasms produced by the friction of his cock in its slippery, sliding movement inside. The large ones came as sprays. The liquid coursed around the obstruction of his penis and squeezed through the circumference at the opening. Though less explosive than the first gush, these overloaded my nerves. It was an excess of pure physical sensation, but it was also an emotional release. I let go.

Time lost meaning. Amadeo may have fucked me for another half hour or it may have only been a few more minutes. His body tensed. His arms extended and locked and kept the weight of his upper body above my chest. I saw the rugged sinews in relief. He closed his eyes tightly, and his forehead scrunched in concentration. His thighs drove the pelvis down. His pelvis kissed mine as the cock imposed itself to the root. The shuddering of the penis set the walls of my vagina to quaking. I tensed and had one more orgasm of my own. He kissed me gently in its aftermath. The hair on his groin tickled my pussy.

I am in the UK again from December 31st to January 17th. I will be crashing with my former roommate and her husband. They are renting a one bedroom flat near Hampstead Heath. I get the plush new sofa in the living room. I expect I won’t be at their place every night. After all, I have friends to see and be done by.

Amadeo has proven to be a generally poor correspondent. We Skype now and again. Frank writes a long e-mail every couple of weeks. These arrive unexpectedly. The letters are warm and funny and inevitably make me wish I had considered doing an undergraduate degree at Oxford or Cambridge. His missives and my replies are interspersed with frequent text messages. The salacious SMS exchanges happen when one of us endures an incomprehensible seminar. I like to think of Frank growing hard in his seat in public and hiding the erection in his pants with A4 paper. In the back of the auditorium, I squirm in my chair from arousal. My panties become moist. I miss these men.

For the past six weeks in Boston, I have been seeing someone. In his early thirties, David is a newly minted assistant professor. I like him very much so far. We are still in the process of discovering each other, sexually and otherwise. I have no expectations for how long the relationship will last. We aren’t exclusive. My colorful sexual life isn’t a secret to him either. He has seen the marks that other men have left on my body. He disapproves only on aesthetic grounds. He is especially proficient at applying pain without leaving bruises. David and I met through OkCupid. Like my own profile, his indicates an interest in casual sex. Naturally, in the bedroom, he gets off on his dominance and my submission. He is adept with rope. I am his bondage whore. He has made my body contort in positions I didn’t know were possible for me and taken me hard while I was tied. Sometimes he wants a brutally fast orgasm from a skull fucking. At other times he has me between his legs worshiping his phallus for most of a lazy Saturday afternoon. The Venn diagram of our kinks overlaps considerably, but there are also significant exclusions.

Because we have common friends, the ex-boyfriend and I run into each other socially. We haven’t fallen into bed. I have only been back to the old apartment once, to pick up my stuff. It’s over. I think of him less and less. But sometimes, when I am meandering through an art gallery, for example, I play the conversations we could have had in my mind. The abundance of memories I have makes me smile. He is happy. I am also, in my own way, content with the rhythms of my days and nights.

I hooked up with both of my regulars from before shortly after returning to the US. Though we do not play often, the most exciting sex I have had was a gang bang with five men organized by one of these fuck buddies. One by one, I sat on the men’s laps, naked. Wearing business suits, they kissed and touched me. The men toyed with my breasts and fingered my pussy. They affixed clothespins to my body. I brushed my ass over the erections that tented their trousers. We shared bottles of wine. Because I wanted to walk comfortably the next day, we decided that only three of them would fuck my ass. The men conducted a lottery for the privilege. I was doubled up, back and front. Once, briefly, I was tripled. My openings were made watertight. I held a penis in each hand and stroked the shafts. The men tied me to the sort of bench that is typically found in the locker room at a gym. The rope knotted my wrists beneath the plane of the thick wooden plank. It wrapped over my back to hold me in place. My tits were squashed flat. Knees on the floor, my legs were held apart by a spreader bar. My ass extended over the edge. They took my anus and pussy. My chest rode hard against the oak. Frequently, I fellated a man who straddled the bench and fed me his cock while another fucked me. The sex was continuous. It went on for two and a half hours. My friend had me first and last.

A few other encounters may be worth mentioning. I had bareback sex on a single occasion. At a bar, I picked up an eighteen year old, who looked like he was in his early twenties. I didn’t know he was a virgin until he confessed his virtue in my bedroom after we were already naked. Probably, I should have guessed his inexperience from the way he kissed. He departed my apartment having come in a woman. To start, I gave him a blowjob to take the edge off. He erupted almost at once, filling my mouth with the consummation of all of his adolescent daydreams and night tremors. Despite obvious inexpertness, I liked that I was his first taste of cunt. When we fucked, I squealed aloud in ecstasy before he expelled his seed. While I thought of introducing him to my toy box, I ultimately decided against it. I have long fantasized about training up the ideal dom starting from a tabula rasa. He isn’t the one. I haven’t seen him again.

At the other end of the age spectrum, I indulged my Electra complex over Thanksgiving. On Black Friday, I posted an ad on Craigslist and hooked up with a man in his mid-fifties. He is over twice my age and, in fact, said he had a son a year older than me. We met for coffee and then proceeded to a no tell motel at the outskirts of town. The clerk gave us a knowing look when he handed over the key. The man palmed my ass possessively. I never learned his name. I insisted that Daddy place his great, big cock in his little girl’s tight, wet cunt. Fucking and sustained cunnilingus drowned the bedsheets in my flood. I asked Daddy to sperm on me to close because I wanted to wear his semen. He straddled my chest and, punctuated by small licks over the glans, masturbated himself. He blasted over my tits to make them grow.

Lastly, I went to a conference in Pennsylvania at the beginning of October. I took a rental car and drove from Massachusetts. Around two thirty in the morning, I needed a pit stop, coffee, and a bite to eat. I stopped at a diner along the highway. A man seated alone invited me to join him at a small table. Rather than eating by myself, I accepted. He was a trucker and got to talking about life on the road. Intrigued, I asked for a tour of the truck. The living quarters of the eighteen wheeler were claustrophobic. A bunk bed occupied much of the space. Neatly stacked plastic storage containers lined the top bunk. The bed below was immaculately made. He didn’t wear a wedding band, I noticed. I took a chance and kissed him. His tongue dipped into my open mouth. He leaned his weight toward me; my back bowed backward. My fingers worked his belt buckle apart. I shed my jacket and divested myself of clothes. The cab was chilly. He turned the heat up for me. I sat on the edge of the mattress and sucked his penis to hardness. When I was satisfied with how it shined, I tossed the condom I unearthed from my purse at him. He nursed at my teats and lowered his weight atop my body. My arms wrapped his broad shoulders. I spread my legs in the air. The bedsprings gave a metallic creak. The floor seemed to shift slightly, but I may have imagined this. I sprawled in his arms after sex. We had breakfast in the same diner in the morning. I bought a fresh box of condoms from the convenience store at the gas station nearby, and we had a quickie for the road.

These episodes are exceptional. The majority of the sex during the past three months has been pedestrian. Craigslist is less effective than I remember. It has gotten me laid, yes, but the men I have met in Boston through the agency of the casual encounters board have exhibited little promise. Random hookups still happen, but the frequency has diminished since London. Ideally, I want more than another one night stand. The unrepeated fucks are temporary expedients and stopgap measures. Save for David, sex constitutes only a physical release. It lacks an intellectual or emotional connection. The dildo is sometimes more satisfying than a man. I haven’t been on the hunt as regularly as before. This is just as well. Research and grading papers have kept me busy this semester. Marking exams is a bitch. I expect to defend my thesis in May. The dissertation needs much work this spring.

I still play flute when I can with a chamber group. We don’t perform. We rehearse challenging music for fun. Nearly every morning, I spend an hour at the gym. On Friday nights, I go dancing — usually at gay clubs. Liz and Sophie, two close friends, like making out with girls. We have done a fair amount of kissing and fondling bodies through club wear. It hasn’t ended with tongue circling clit and my mouth imbibing cunt or thighs clamping a head in a viselike grip with fingers pulling the roots of hair and making indentations in the scalp as my pussy fountains against the touch of lips. We haven’t tribbed. Perhaps one day we shall.

I will most likely be in a new city next fall. Where? I don’t know. The job applications are out. I enjoy what I can of Boston while I am living here. I keep busy.

I am back in the United States. I have two more stories to tell about London. I had my final Wednesday date with Amadeo. Frank came to visit on Friday and saw me off to Heathrow on Saturday. Both these goodbyes were tinged with sadness. I am friendly with Marshall, the man I have seen several times during the last weeks. Though we have out of this world sex, we aren’t especially tight. I am not broken up about leaving him. With Amadeo and Frank, the situation is different. I miss them terribly.

On the seventh day of the month of September in the year two thousand and eleven, Amadeo brought me to subspace one last time.

He took me in every orifice. Using my ears as handles, he throat fucked me. The saliva spilled from my mouth, falling in thick ropes that left a puddle on the floor. The tug of wrists wrenching both of my arms from their sockets, he impaled my anus onto his cock and battered my ass from behind. He pinned my wrists high above my head with one of his enormous paws, and while his cock pounded my cunt, I sucked and bit on the fingers in my mouth. After I came, he licked my puffy and swollen pussy with an abundance of gentleness. I brought his hands to my breasts while he ate me out. He deposited kisses over the water smooth pubis and swirled his tongue round and round the orgasm engorged clit. The pussy licking was the prelude to a fisting. It took him twenty minutes to squeeze inside. I couldn’t see it happen — not fully — flat as I was on my back, breathing hard, and clenching the sheets. I concentrated on his speech, and he talked me through the process of fitting his hand into my cunt until the muscles at the entrance stretched like a rubber band about his wrist. I was a mitten. I was a glove. My hair was swimming in sweat. I resided in a hazy and contented place with his fist inside.

Amadeo’s aftercare was exquisite. He held me protectively.

He took me over his lap and spanked me. The barehand blows landed over my buttocks in fortissimo thunderclaps that set my ass to rippling. The heat seared into the flesh. The skin turned an angry red. The muscles ached. Wriggling his hand between my thighs, Amadeo discovered a sopping cunt. In the intervals, he fingered my pussy lips and clitoris. He left no bruises but nevertheless walloped me until I was beyond screaming. Tears bespoke pain. But I was also aware that this could be the end. I will miss our nights together. Orgasm came to me in an adrenaline and endorphin fueled rush.

I brought a blubbering face to his penis and sucked him softly, savoring his scents and flavors, the heft of his cock between my lips, and the taste of precome on my tongue. When he was perfectly rigid and yearning, I placed a condom over the erection. Amadeo took me slowly from above. The cock imposed itself to the balls, then retreated completely. My hands tightened on his arms and shoulders, and I kissed him. He kept removing the penis from my cunt and slapping the shaft over my pubis. He painted the moisture from inside over the skin.

I went to sleep with the meter long chain that attached to my collar looped around the headboard of the bed. Amadeo’s recumbent body radiated its heat next to me. He had begun on his side, spooning me, with an arm folded over my breasts. We were both horizontal now, stretched out and supine. He took in deep breaths of air in his sleep. I fingered the cold metal links of the chain and shut my eyes. My pussy was sore from fucking.

In the shower in the morning, I took pleasure in washing his body. I rinsed soap from his underarms and followed with kisses. I used foam to pattern white arcs over his backside. I tasted the skin that I had cleaned. I sponged his cock and sucked him under the water stream. After the orgasm, which produced only the smallest spoonful of ejaculate, I extended Amadeo’s left leg and kissed my way down to his ankle. Taking his foot in hand, I licked along the arch. Fingernails scratched the sole and tickled. I sucked his big toe just as I had minutes before sucked his glans. My tongue flickered into the crevice between the big toe and the longer one next to it. I lapped at the top of the foot and along its sides. My lips left kisses over the pads of his toes. I pressed the sole against my cheek, and I nosed at the heel.

Once we had reversed positions, Amadeo held the showerhead and pointed it over my body. I closed my eyes and stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and enjoyed the unhurried kisses while he soaped my tits and back. Bringing my arms in the air, he washed my armpits and flank. He rubbed in circles over my belly, skirted the pussy, and continued on to my legs. I propped a foot on his knee as soapy hands slid along the leg. He scrubbed between the toes. After he had rinsed my cunt lips, he pressed his face down hard and licked me. Turning me against the wall, he gnawed the flesh of my buttocks and the hollow of the neck where it meets the shoulder. He shampooed my hair with exceptional care. I went to my knees again and let the back of my head brush against his penis.

On the drive to the university, whenever he could spare it from the stick shift, he placed his hand on the inner part of my thigh. Rising to tiptoes, I wrapped his shoulder and back and hugged him next to the car when we arrived. We kissed, once, twice, and held each other. I waited for him to dissolve the hug. I clasped his right hand in my left and his left in my right. We drifted apart.

“Farewell, lover,” I whispered. Then louder: “See you around.” The smile reached his eyes.

I don’t know what I can say about Frank. The fucking was likely the purest sex I have had in London. It wasn’t the all night orgy some of our previous encounters were. We did it once in the evening and again in the morning. We did it in my flat, on my bed, over sheets I abandoned, with my packed luggage by the side of the door. It was funny. It was comfortable. We had intensely personal conversations and companionable silences. It wasn’t the least bit romantic. The sex affirmed a friendship, one that, I hope, will endure through the distance and the decades.

It will be ages — well, months — before my next rendezvous with either of these men. It will happen though. And possibly we will renew our acquaintance in bed. I would like that very much.

Because of work commitments, I only had sex once this week, with Amadeo. It was another hard session. This is how it went.

• Amadeo tied my panties about my ankles and had me kneel on the sofa. I bent over the couch with my arms stretched horizontally along the back while he flayed my buttocks with his belt. I screamed through the ball gag.

• While I squirmed over his lap, he held my wrists firmly in one of his hands, forced my legs apart with his thighs, and spanked my pussy. As I haven’t waxed since before my vacation, I have a soft cushion of hair on my pubis. Amadeo used this as an excuse to spank me ten extra times.

• We employed restraints that passed over the door to bind my arms above my head. Amadeo attached nipple clamps to my breasts and whipped my tits as they had so far been left out.

• Finally, he slipped his fly open to expose his cock. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and sucked him off. I was conscious of the ache in my chest and how my ass smarted while I fellated him. Holding the sides of my face, he used my throat for a cunt. The saliva ran in rivers over his cock. The fluvial excess left puddles on the carpet.

• Amadeo didn’t come in my mouth. He peeled off his clothes and fucked me in the ass. I was on the floor, on knees and the balls of my toes with breasts flattened against the cushions of the sofa. He had me hold my cheeks apart for him as he battered his way into me. My buttocks were an angry red. He slapped them again with his bare hand as he fucked me. He told me that he liked to see the flesh ripple.

• A few fingers of whisky, and we were ready to go again. I slouched on my back with my head propped up against the back of the sofa. My feet hooked around his waist. Amadeo squeezed my tits as he probed my cunt with his cock. He jabbed his fingers into my mouth. I brought his hand to my throat. He clutched my windpipe and slipped his tongue past my lips. I enjoyed the kisses as much as I enjoyed his cock.

• He flipped the condom inside out and tipped the semen into the cup of his hand. I lapped the come from his palm. I played with it, stretching long strands between my fingers and breaking them as the triumphant runner tears the tape at the end of a race.

• After all this, Amadeo rested. He reclined on the sofa with his head cushioned by throw pillows against the side. My naked architect leafed through the correspondence of Vincent and Theo Van Gogh. He read aloud to me while I sucked softly on his scrotum and penis. We set the alarm on his iPhone. He wanted me to continue in this way for an hour. As he had come twice, a shifting touch of fingers and lips allowed him to last so long. My jaws were sore. I looked up at him as he finished himself off by masturbating.

• He shot his sperm into my panties. He took the semen wet cloth and rubbed it over my face. He anointed my forehead with his come. It moisturized the pores on my cheeks. To consume the leavings, I sucked hard on the fabric and twisted it until I could taste no more of Amadeo. I decided I would wear the same panties in the morning.

• He ordered me to masturbate in bed. I did so using the steel dildo that I keep in his apartment. He rubbed ice cubes over my breasts. He licked the melted water from my nipples. After the orgasm, he had me do it again because I had climaxed without seeking and acquiring his permission. He kept me going without coming for minutes after I asked, until I begged. Taking the dildo from my pussy, he slipped the ice cubes into my cunt and lapped the slit. When he told me to come, I did so on command. He bit my clitoris. The sharpness of his teeth fused pleasure with pain and augmented the intensity of the orgasm and the volume of my screams.

• In the bathtub in the morning, he blasted the shower at maximum heat and full pressure at my clitoris. I diddled myself until I climaxed, remembering to receive his consent first. Afterwards, we fucked in the hot stream. I went to my knees and drank the contents of his bladder. He hosed me down with it, my face and breasts. I spread my thighs so he could aim the flow at my cunt. I washed it in my hair as though it was shampoo.

• He drove me to the university and sent me to work wearing a buttplug in my anus. It remained in my ass until after lunch.

Catching up on work and life takes priority over blogging. Therefore, I have no long post to give. Here are short takes on catching up with my stable of lovers in London.

• Amadeo brought me over his thighs and tugged my jeans and panties down to my knees. I had to keep track of the number of times each buttocks was hit and say the number aloud. He confused me by striking the cheeks at random.

• After he came in my mouth, I spit Amadeo’s semen onto my breasts. It left a sticky trail in its wake as it ran through my cleavage.

• Face lowered to the mattress, I was on knees and shoulders as he wrenched my arms behind me and hauled me backward by the wrists. Pussy yielded to cock. One of his knees dug into the mattress. He planted his other foot to my face. I kissed Amadeo’s big toe.

• Frank stood behind me, cock to one side. He held my hair in a ponytail as I sucked him. While I deepthroated the cock, my fingers splayed on the outside of my cunt. The digits diddled my clit. He came over my face. The stuff got into my hair. Frank isn’t shy about his semen. We shared messy kisses afterwards.

• I clutched the yellow pillow and the side of the mattress. Frank clutched each foot just above the ankle. I stared up at the ceiling and took in measured breaths as his thick glans penetrated my anus.

• Fingers laced with his, I gripped his hand long after my knuckles turned color. Frank ate my cunt with ravenous intent. I came over his face, too.

Ben Wa balls: I slipped them into my pussy after lunch. They shifted and teased me throughout the day. During spare moments, I compressed my muscles to give the pelvic floor a workout. I stood on the Jubilee line to Amadeo’s place. The spheres jostled as the train accelerated and decelerated. Amadeo discovered the Ben Wa balls and extracted them from my cunt when he stripped me down after dinner.

A pestle: Since he had cooked, I did the dishes after the meal. Once naked, I wore his belt around my neck. Amadeo had me sit on the counter, drew my legs apart, and spun into my cunt the ceramic pestle I had washed. He had earlier used it to crush spices. The texture was grainy and rough. I liked its coarseness against my labial folds.

Ice: Amadeo placed two ice cubes into my pussy. My body squirmed and my legs wriggled. He forcibly held my thighs open as he diddled my clit. The heat inside melted the water, which he drank from me as he licked.

His tongue and his spit: Obviously.

Two clothespins: In the bedroom, Amadeo arranged clothespins in spirals about my areolae. The way they stuck out reminded me of the quills of a porcupine. Stronger metal clips with teeth attached to each of the nipples. He secured the clothespins that were left over from his set of two dozen to my underarms and my navel. One peg of the clothespin on each side of the pussy entered my cunt. He used the pincers to tug my lips apart and licked the fissure in between.

Three fingers: When he fingered me, he shoved the three central fingers of his right hand into my cunt. He stabbed them in and out with ferocity until I came. After the orgasm, I lapped my juices from his hand. It was only when I had done this to his satisfaction that he removed the clamps from my nipples. They were sensitive and raw to the touch of fingers and lips. The rush of blood inside made the nerve endings throb.

A steel dildo: It is our favorite toy. I enjoyed having its heft inside, the way it compelled my pussy to stretch, how Amadeo curled it. He nudged it against the G-spot and the anterior fornix deeper inside.

The metal buckle of his belt: Just because.

The middle of the belt: Amadeo folded the leather over in half. He wet it in my pussy and used it to lash my buttocks. I gripped the headboard while he whipped me.

A vibrating egg: While I sucked his cock, the egg buzzed inside my vagina. It had a remote control. Amadeo made me moan around his penis each time he ramped the setting higher. At full power, the constant whirr made my muscles thrum. The egg remained in my pussy while Amadeo’s lubed up cock occupied my anus. At the end of this round, I laid on my belly, pubis rutting against a pillow. The vibrator purred over the G-spot while Amadeo prised my cheeks apart and pounded my asshole. The belt looped about my wrists. Arms bound behind my back, he hauled my body onto his prick.

Urine: Actually, this took place in the morning. Before we showered, Amadeo had me lie down in the bottom of the tub. He stood on the sides, his spread open legs directly over my head so that I could look up at the split of his muscular ass and the balls swinging above. He pissed, directing the flow at the cunt lips, which I peeled open for him. A quarter hour later, he came over my face. My index finger applied pressure to his prostate to enhance the sensations he experienced.

I part the lips of my cunt with the splayed fingers of one hand so that the entrance gapes at him. Amadeo extends his tongue into the maw. He reaches inside as far as he can manage and then replaces the tongue with fingers while his lips snatch up my clit. I grip the leg of the table that I am lying on and spread my legs wider if that is even possible. Amadeo is not content with fucking only my pussy with his fingers: the thumb sinks into my asshole and he rubs it against his other fingers through the intervening muscles. He looks up at me from his knees as he snaps up the labia and shakes his head vigorously from side to side. It is the tongue lashing about the clitoris that gets me though. My thighs are a guillotine on his neck when the little death strikes me down.

He takes my buttocks after that.

His hands pry the cheeks apart and the fingers tug on either side of the opening. The head batters past the sphincter. Amadeo inches backward and presses forward again claiming more territory each time. Lubricant trickles down the backs of my thighs. It feels as though I am being ripped apart from the interior. First, I squeal at the intrusion into my rectum. Next, I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and gnash my teeth. Lastly, resigning myself to the incipient fact of the sodomy, I remember that I want this, breathe deeply, and force myself to relax the muscles in order to let it happen. There is the familiar searing burn in my bowels as I am skewered by his cock.

The pressure on my back forces my shoulders to the surface of the table and raises my buttocks; he improves the angle of penetration this way. Head hanging low, hair swinging wildly, the blood rushes to my face. From beneath, I observe that one of his muscular legs roots him to the ground while the other kicks his weight from the table. The cock stabs into me without respite. The movement of his hips withdraws the penis until the sphincter is a tight ribbon about the thick glans. He spikes himself in again. The muscles of the anus are like bellows — they expand to accommodate the shaft as he impales my ass and contract in the vacuum that he leaves behind when he pulls away. The fucking hurts, but the fullness of the cock inside, the pleasure I take and the knowledge of the pleasure I give subsume the pain in my ass.

The balls slap against my buttocks, and he augments this sound with vicious spanks that set my flesh to rippling. Amadeo jams his fingers in my cunt and relays that he feels his cock moving on the other side of the thin membrane. Reaching behind, I grip his thigh and encourage his movements with thunderous moans. I want his orgasm. I am his ass bitch. So I beg for it.

After he has come, his penis droops inside latex. I peel the condom off, invert it, and smear the semen that fills the tip over his shaft. I slurp the come from his skin. I lick it from where it tangles in the hairs of his pubis, catches the light, and shines.

Wednesday evening: We proceeded to bed almost as soon as I arrived. After we had expended the initial impetus to screw, we prepared our dinner in the nude. I coated the vegetables in my not-so-secret pussy sauce. He spanked my breasts with a wooden spoon and probed the entrance of my cunt with its rounded edge. My asshole: this he stoppered with the cork from the chianti. Amadeo and I took turns on the table. We ate pasta from each other’s bodies and had a messy and splendid time of it. Amadeo took sadistic glee in poking me in sensitive places with the tines of his fork. He applied the serrated edge of the knife over my abdomen. He spilled hot sauce over my pubis. I layered the food over his groin and used fingers and teeth. I nibbled at his foreskin and sucked at the shaft. The wine stained his chest red. For dessert, I had semen in my gelato. He licked ice cream from my pelvis. He did it slowly. Fingertips sweeping over the G-spot, the tongue flicked carefully atop the clit. Tease and misdirection and a knowing touch conspired to leave me soaked, breathless, and precariously positioned on the precipice of orgasm, waiting for a push and the perpendicular descent.

Before coffee in the morning, Amadeo fucked me over the kitchen table. I laid on my back while he stood on his toes and thrust his penis into my cunt. He propped my left foot on his shoulder and licked the sole. His fingers combed through my hair. He gave me his thumb to suck, then smothered my mouth and nose with his palm. The resolute grip of his fingers constricted my throat. I anchored myself with a handhold on his hip while the spillage from my vagina smeared into the nest of his pubis and slicked between our thighs. Amadeo kicked off the wooden chair, and he fucked me harder. Rough paws mauled my tits. I raised an arm above my head and seized the side of the table. I liked having the solidity of oak beneath me, the way the wood vibrated under my weight when Amadeo rammed himself forward and bottomed out and reversed direction. My moans gave accompaniment to the liquid sounds of fuck. He hauled me from the table, up by the buttocks, when he came. The cock spasmed in the throes of his little death. I bore down with my muscles to wrench the semen out of him. Later, I lapped my secretions from the polished wood.

— 2 —

Friday night: I wore an emerald cocktail dress, with a deep V neck that showed cleavage and a halter tie that bared my back. The hem of the skirt landed conservatively two inches above the knee. The mostly rayon fabric hugged tightly to my curves and stretched about my legs when I stepped. It had a lustrous sheen. The occasion was a fundraising soirée for a charity for which a friend from the orchestra works. The conversation bent toward art and music. It was my kind of crowd.

A man in a purple shirt, a sport jacket, and dark blue slacks chatted me up. After the party, we unwound at a champagne bar. Hours after midnight, we checked into a hotel in central London where we had drunken sex. I cannot reconstruct the narrative with any clarity. Scattered images remain. I remember the checker patterned ceiling swimming into and out of focus behind him as he fucked me from above. I remember his head between my thighs and how I compressed the sides of his face in their vice. I remember tracing the tip of my tongue along the veins in his cock before looping a condom over the head. I remember dragging my nails down his arms as he slammed into me from a height. I remember sloppy kisses. I don’t recollect whether he made me come.

— 3 —

Saturday night & most of Sunday: Frank and I had dinner early in the evening at a Lebanese restaurant. From about 9 pm until 2 pm, we spent our waking and sleeping hours installed in my bed. When we commenced, I had an almost fresh box of condoms sitting on the nightstand. Now, the two last condoms in the whole apartment are buried at the bottom of my book bag. One day later, the scent of sex still saturates my pillows and sheets.

Frank took me in every pose. He had me on top. He had me underneath. He had me on my hands and knees. He took my ass from above with my legs suspended in the air. He took it hunched over me from behind. He had my buttocks with my back flush against his chest. When he needed a break to forestall an incipient climax, he paused the fucking to lap at my cunt. In my turn, I sucked him on my knees. I sucked him sitting cross legged on my bed. I sucked him with my head dangling from the side of the mattress. I sucked him pulling the cock backward between his legs after thoroughly devouring his winking anus. It didn’t signify in the least that he ran out of semen long before we had finished. The cock maintained its steel. The balls would shudder and the shaft would twitch. We kept going until it did, and then we repeated.

One of the qualities that makes Frank a gifted lover is his sense of the ebb and flow of sex, the innate knowledge of how to transition and when. He has me rutting on all fours, with his prick prodding my cunt from behind. His fingers stroke each of my flanks, brushing them from the hips to the rise of the breasts. When he penetrates and the cock fills me inside, the hands shift minutely. The heels of his palms press against the undersurface of the breasts. The pads of his thumb and index finger make tiny pincers. He squeezes the nipples and gently draws them out. The face of the thumb feathers over the sensitive nerve endings. The forefinger steadies this movement. The hands then cup the breasts and flatten them against muscle and bone, and he uses this improved leverage to slam my body backward against his groin. Then he raises me upright by wrapping his arms about my shoulders and lifting. At the same time, he sinks down on the mattress into a sitting position, and he lowers me over his penis so that I am squatting on my knees between his legs. After a time, he kisses my neck where it joins with the collar, and he presses his fingers between the shoulder blades to coax me prone on the bed. He extends my legs and blankets me with his body. The cock fucks without interruption. The tempo of sex hasn’t altered though we have cycled through a spectrum of positions. All of them feel different. All of them feel new. No matter how many times we have done this before, the sensation is unique to the moment.

It’s like music. There is a theme in the violins, and then the celli pick up the exact melody one register down, and they pass it on to the winds, who carry it. My lips are at the embouchure. My fingers are floating over the middle keys, and I am listening, and I am watching his baton and timing the entrance, and the harmony stretches itself into me deep down, and I experience it in a way I don’t know how to describe. There aren’t words for this. The music envelops me while I am shaping the notes. It creates me just as I create it. I am somewhere in its core. And I am not alone. I hardly know how I got to this place or where it is I am going next. I remember to breathe and keep on playing.